


Memory Like Forgetting

by ChocoChipBiscuit



Series: Survivor Vee Wong [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Light Dom/sub, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 12:27:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8285855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoChipBiscuit/pseuds/ChocoChipBiscuit
Summary: Vee wants a memory she won't forget. (And hopes she won't forget Nate.)Sneaking to the roof for a morning rendezvous seems like a good start.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is set somewhere in the middle of [Compartmentalization](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5983570), though it's not necessary to read them in any particular order.
> 
> Many thanks to ialpiriel for taking the time to beta. :)

She’s forgotten the niceties of conversation. She was never talented with them to begin with, at returning a compliment or asking about the weather (radiated, wet, sunny— days blurring, each moment better-marked in old wounds and bitter aches than in anything as fickle and transient as the _weather_ ) or remembering to ask how others are doing. If it’s important, they’ll tell her.

She’s always wanted to build things. Needed to build things. Her body will fail, eventually, but a city is a living organism, bone-scaffolding and soft flesh of protected citizens, trade pulsing arteries through it. She’s dropped little bits and pieces of herself into each settlement; her sweat in the mortar, her breath in the air. Exhaled carbon bound to the weeds growing wild, flecked with iron from her blood.

(Maybe she’s so used to seeing the world laid out sharp and bright, clear lines and clear divisions, that she’s forgotten any other way. People are gray and hazy by comparison, nothing like the neat blueprints.)

Maybe that’s why she likes Haylen. Haylen keeps so much of herself sectioned off, after all, all her bits and pieces in neat array. A different sort of purpose, bound to the whirring machine of the Brotherhood. Good to take her out of it, remind her that she exists in isolation, in her own skin, that her own wants need not always be second to the Brotherhood.

Vee knows cogs and war machines; they’ll use you ‘til you break, then trade you out for the next soldier in line.

(Another reason to keep their relationship private. Not shame, but discretion— it’s not exactly fraternization, not when Vee exists neatly parallel to the Brotherhood’s internal divisions, but why fuel wayward tongues? Why give anyone else more than they want to share? It will only hasten the breaking.)

So Vee takes Haylen by the hand, taps a finger to her lips and pulls her out of bed.

Haylen blinks at her, still wearing her rumpled work clothes. Her eyes are gummy and sleep-dazed, purpled with dark shadows, and her gaze flicks to the blanket slung over Vee’s shoulder.

But she does not question as Vee pushes her shoes on her feet and tugs her up the stairs. The wooden steps creak, a slow splintering like so much else— but it holds their weight. For now.

They exit to the roof, the light pale and wan. The grey nothing-color sky of early morning, clouds blurring into fog and no hope of sun. It’s the kind of overcast that could be morning, could be evening, could be high noon behind that opaque layer of cloud. Vee only knows the time by her own internal chronometer, knows it more precisely by the green numbers on her Pip-Boy. 6:15AM. Precisely.

(Precision is important— she has to look at photos now, to remember the exact shape of his eyes, the color of his skin. Always a strange distortion between memory and image. Which is more true, after all? Objective, physical reality, albeit through a camera? Or the flesh-map of memory, that empty resonance in her heart? She always imagines Nate a little shorter than he really was, in part because she always wore thick-soled boots when standing next to him. Always remembers his slight limp, the old injury that won’t show in photographs because those are frozen moments in time, rather than the video of unspooling memory.)

Their boots scuff soft against the roof, a metal-chill echo hanging damp in the air. Vee keeps her voice low, soft, careful. Already half-afraid this memory will blur too, soft and indistinct. As if the feel of Haylen’s hand in hers (warm, rough, callused fingers and smooth nails and damp-sweaty from being roused from her blanket-cocoon) might also fade into fog. “I want to fuck you against the railing. The one that overlooks the courtyard.”

Because this, this will be a memory that burns hot, like a coal in the palm of her hand. So every time they see, they’ll _feel_ , memories branded on memories, tint the patterns of their days.

“Too exposed,” Haylen says, brisk and immediate. Her words unslurred by sleep, her mind already up and running.

(Vee envies that. She used to treat coffee as a goddamned _necessity_ , scalding out the morning brain-fog, but it’s a luxury now. Anger’s a cheaper fuel.)

Too easy to dwell in the past, so Vee forces a smirk, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. She’s nearsighted _and_ astigmatic, as if it wasn’t bad enough to be one or the other. As if prescription lenses are so easy to find these days. Sometimes she regrets not opting for the surgeries (not surgery, but surger _ies_ , a phakic lens implant before her vision could be even close to correctable with lasers) before the cryo, but. Hindsight is always 20-20.

“You’ve thought about it before,” she says. Not a question. “If you hadn’t, you would have at least taken a few seconds to be all shocked at me.”

Haylen rolls her eyes, crossing her arms as she leans back against the railing. “So did you wake me up just to snark, or…?”

Vee drops her blanket to the ground, sets her hands on Haylen’s hips. Squeezes. “I want to fuck you against the railing.”

Haylen laughs, arms still crossed. Slides her foot forward, between Vee’s legs. Almost touching, but still maintaining that last piece of distance. “And what makes you think I’m gonna say yes?”

“Because if you really didn’t want to, you’d have said no and gone back to bed,” Vee snorts. “But we could just make out, if you’d rather.”

“Hm. Tempting.” Haylen presses her toe to the roof, grinding down with a twist of her ankle. “Well. Since everyone’s trusting the turrets to stand sentry…”

“As long as you can stay quiet, I think we’re safe.” Vee ducks her head, glints her eyes sideways over her glasses.

“Oh? If _I_ stay quiet?” Haylen mocks, lips twisting up in spite of herself. “From the woman with the biggest mouth in the Commonwealth?” Still not retreating, but she rolls her hands, palms up, like offering— and Vee accepts.

Vee takes Haylen’s wrists, pushing her back. Lands her mouth on Haylen’s, rough and chapped. Haylen’s breath still morning-sour, but Vee forgives her for it. Vee could forgive her for a lot of things, really.

(Surely Nate would forgive her for this. Vee worries, sometimes, that she'll rewrite her memories of him, over and over again, until the lines and letters blur, original script forgotten. Exchange the taste of his mouth for the sour edge of Haylen’s, forget his square hands for Haylen’s slender ones. Like a tattered palimpsest, scribbling meanings layered until they smear, indistinct and inarticulate. This is why it’s important to make it vivid, to make it last. Something to sear the fog of memory.)

Vee pushes Haylen’s jacket up above her tits, unzips Haylen’s suit, sucks and licks at the tender strip of exposed skin between her breasts. Would coat Haylen smooth and wet with it, polish her to a gun-metal sheen and press her damp and sticky against the ground. She nibbles, uses her lips to blunt her teeth as she gnaws over the soft slope of breast, the red creases and striations where Haylen’s bra dug into her skin.

Haylen bites her lip between her teeth, gripping the rail. Hands white-knuckled, pale skin made paler with nerves, excitement. A hoarse and heavy breathing, open-mouthed and panting. Her breasts peak soft and tender beneath Vee’s hands, Vee’s fingers, and Vee pinches, nibbles. The unspoken rule is that they can’t leave any marks that will show, nothing that will provoke questions, commentary— but that leaves so much skin, really. Between Haylen’s zippered flight suit and ribbed orange jacket, the black gloves and her hair tucked tight beneath the flight cap, there’s so much of Haylen that remains unseen. Hidden, from the Brotherhood, Vee, herself.

“Good girl,” Vee murmurs into the dip of Haylen’s navel, licking down, down. Haylen’s belly quivers, a clench of her thighs. Still silent, still breathing. When Vee looks up, it’s to see Haylen’s eyes shut, squinting hard against some inner vision. Cheeks blotched pink, easily excuse for wind-chapped if not for the hot musky smell of her, sex and frustration and too many cold nights in a sorry excuse for an outpost without even the privacy to jill off on a regular basis.

So times like this— Haylen’s used to following orders, sure, but there’s a difference between orders for orders’ sake, following someone else’s regimented routine, and following orders for pleasure’s sake. Maybe the two are blurred, somewhere. But praise is something scarce within the Brotherhood. When Vee offers it, Haylen drinks it up, licks the sweetness lingering between her teeth.

So: “good girl, good girl,” Vee says, pulling down Haylen’s trousers, her worn grey briefs and nuzzling into the nest of dark curls. She breathes deep, lets the hair tickle against her nostrils as she catches that familiar smoky, musky smell. Dark, faintly acidic— reminds her of lapsang souchong. Not that anyone else would recognize it. That particular tea was already getting hard to find because of the war, and after the bombs fell…

(Maybe that’s another memory that will die with Vee. Like the color of Nate’s skin, the shape of his jaw, the taste of his lips.)

“Please, please,” Haylen whispers. Vulnerable, exposed in this gray-nothing light. Stripped out of her layered shell like something soft and tender.

“Please what?” Vee asks.

Haylen cracks her eyes open, just enough that Vee can catch them glitter. They reflect a strange blue, like a rain-washed sky. “Please. Make me come.”

“Stay quiet. Hold the railing. If you make noise…” Vee lets the threat dangle. Haylen’s a creative soul, underneath all the ordered monotony of the Brotherhood. Whatever she imagines will be worse than what Vee has in mind anyway.

(Especially since Vee doesn’t like punishment. She prefers that perfect moment of control, of trust. Like Haylen’s wrists wrapped in nylon rope, dangling from a power armor station. Like Haylen shifting, side to side, face pink and wreathed in steam as she drinks coffee, the quiet hum of Vee’s remote-controlled vibe lost beneath the electric hiss of the station lights. Like Haylen stilling all her voices, her commands, ignoring Brotherhood hierarchy to be stripped soft and naked beneath Vee’s hands.)

Haylen’s a good girl, good girl. Obedient, fingers locked in place and her breath catching in her throat. Soft, shallow breaths, trying not to let the exhale rasp too loud. Vee sets the folded blanket in front of Haylen, cushions her knees on it as Vee rests her head against Haylen’s thigh, the soft pale billow of skin and the pulse of the artery, the veins swimming faint and blue beneath the surface. Haylen would still her own heartbeat, if she could. For the sake of silence.

Vee puts her thumbs at the center of Haylen’s folds, tugs to expose her inner pinkness. Sharp and sweet now, already glistening. Half-expects it to steam in the morning air. Vee sets her tongue soft against Haylen’s labia, laps and licks. A long stripe, almost into Haylen’s sweet cunt, then up to the peak. Like a tiny arch, and Haylen’s clit is the keystone— stroke it right, and she’ll come tumbling down.

Vee teases, glides. Never fully on the clit, only treats it to incidental touches, small grazes that could almost be an accident. Haylen breathing picks up, rapid, rapid. Still soft. Trying not to whimper, the force of it clenching down through her belly, a column of tension that bears down, down. Knees buckling, so Vee pushes a palm up against Haylen’s hip. Not quite support, but a reminder. Haylen straightens herself up.

“Good girl. I’m going to suck your clit now. Think you can stay quiet, or do you need a gag?” Vee murmurs, pulling back so she can look up at Haylen.

Haylen tilts her head, almost flops it to the side. Eyes hazy, sleep-drunk or lust-drunk. Either way, intoxicated. “What kind of gag?” Voice slurring, tongue wet with unshed moans.

“Nothing fancy. Just my old socks.”

Haylen’s eyes widen. “You wouldn’t.”

Vee smirks. “Guess you better stay quiet then.” She pitches her voice husky, mock-sultry and drawling. “I been stomping through the old subway stations, stagnant water, haven’t washed ‘em in _days_ …” And Haylen’s nose is scrunching, that fierce crinkle that twists her mouth small and sets harsh lines between her eyebrows. Too much disgust can kill the sense of play, so Vee quickly adds, “Teasing. Got an unused hanky too. If you really need it.”

“I— I can stay quiet.” Haylen’s chin jutting, proud. She is good at following orders, after all. “I want you to make me come.”

“And if it’s too much, you’re gonna say…?”

Haylen blushes, a deep and staining pink. “Ad victoriam.” Haylen had hemmed and hawed over picking a safeword, and Vee had first suggested it as a joke, but was all too delighted to use when Haylen took to it with a giggly acceptance.

“Let’s see how close you get, then.” Vee chuckles, kissing the crease of Haylen’s thigh. The unzipped edge of Haylen’s suit brushes against her cheek, rough and strangely cool. “Don’t want you too close yet.”

Vee nestles herself back into position, knees scraping against the roof before shuffling onto the blanket— and god, god, the ache will mark her, another history written in self-inflicted pain— as she wraps her mouth around Haylen’s clit. Licks it, broad, soft. Purses her lips together, _sucks_. A sudden jolt from Haylen, a garbled, half-smothered pleading and exhaled squeak. Silent, or at least as silent as Haylen can manage. Vee pushes forward, mouth on Haylen, forehead into the soft fold of the belly. Her glasses list to the side, crimp into the side of her face— so Vee stops, pulls back and waves a warning finger to ward off Haylen’s questioning look. Vee removes her glasses, folds them shut and precious, carefully tucks them into the front of her suit.

Business taken care of, she goes back to Haylen. That little bit of break built anticipation, Haylen near-gushing down Vee’s chin as Vee works her mouth back into position, uses her tongue to give small flicks against Haylen’s swollen clit. Teasing, soft. Harder, harder. Haylen’s already juddering, shaking, her thighs sweet with sweat and ache.

(A moment of longing— Vee wishes she had a pack of those mint breath strips, the kind that dissolve to gel in the mouth. Another prewar thing, now damn impossible to find. An edge of pain, intensity, something to _really_ make Haylen struggle to stay silent. Cinnamon would be better, of course. Or worse, depending on how you look at it. But would be impossible to forget.)

Vee laps, nuzzles, buries her nose into Haylen’s skin. Eyes shut, drowning in the warm smell of flesh, the way Haylen radiates heat, muddling the scent of warm leather and gun-oil and her breathing soft and rapid, and Haylen whispers, “Coming, gonna, gonna—”

And Vee stops, pulls back and feels rather than sees Haylen thrash against the railing, jerking forward in an effort to reclaim Vee’s mouth. Grins, an unseen smile into Haylen’s thigh, and wipes her lips against Haylen’s skin. Blots them dry; leaves her marks silver and shining.

“Ready?” Vee asks, licking her lips.

Haylen whimpers.

So Vee goes back to Haylen’s cunt, working her hand around to squeeze Haylen’s ass. Firm, flat and muscular. Not much padding, but still enough to give a good pinch. She uses it as a goad, pushing Haylen into her mouth, tongue going in lazy circles, teasing. They have a while until the others wake up—

The door creaks and they both freeze. A worn wooden creak from down below, heavy boots landing hard on the pavement. Leather on asphalt, so it’s Rhys, not Danse— confirmed with the unmistakeable flick of a lighter, the distant nose-crinkling smell of nicotine.

Haylen releases the railing, pushes against Vee’s head, but Vee keeps going, works her lips into a frenzy, hard suction and tongue swirling on Haylen’s clit. Haylen stumbles back, one hand twisted tight into Vee’s hair, the other on the railing for support— Vee senses, doesn’t see, knows by the way Haylen’s weight is slung half away from her— and a sharp intake of breath. Still not using her safeword, so Vee goes harder, relentless, sucking hard enough to make her tongue tingle, lips pulled tight against her teeth. A whimper, from above— and Haylen releases Vee’s hair, soft groan and then blissful, ecstatic, a hard shuddering wave that rocks her entire body and sends her swirling, whole body ramrod straight before she falls forward and catches herself on Vee’s shoulder.

Vee straightens up, takes a few rapid half-steps back with Haylen, just in case Rhys happens to look up. She puts her glasses back on immediately.

Haylen’s dazed, glassy-eyed and with a red half-circle mark of teeth on her wrist. Like a watch, indented on her skin. Doesn’t mark the hours, but the time until the memory fades. If not longer.

“Good girl, good girl,” Vee soothes, tugging Haylen’s pants back up, zipping her suit. Haylen’s still too jelly-legged to be good for much. Responds best to simple commands, simple praise. “Good girl. Lean against the wall with me, okay?”

They sit against the wall at the corner of the helipad, side-by-side with Haylen slumping against Vee’s shoulder. Vee wraps an arm around Haylen, scratches behind her ear. “You were good, so good.”

“I can’t believe you kept going, even when Rhys—” Her voice breaks into a breathless giggle, shoulders heaving. Still amazed at their audacity.

“I knew you could do it. And if you couldn’t, I knew you’d say so.”

Haylen chuckles, soft and giddy. Her eyes shut, lashes casting long shadows on her cheek. Sun came out, sometime between Vee taking off her glasses and Rhys coming out. It’s light without warmth, a wan yellow pallor that barely chases away the morning’s early grey.

Vee can’t remember when the sun came out.

But she knows she’ll remember this— the shape of Haylen’s nose, the tremble of her thighs. The way she bit her wrist to keep from screaming.

Vee’s trying not to forget Nate either, but figures he’ll forgive her.


End file.
